


Strong Enough

by zacekova



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 08:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacekova/pseuds/zacekova
Summary: Sabbatinis are coming out of the very cobblestones, but, naturally, Reborn is completely at home and Tsuna grins as he watches the hitman twining through the madness with casual ease.At least, until someone catches him by surprise, someone’s shot sneaking past his inhuman reflexes, and Reborn jerks, stumbling back with a grunt of pain. Tsuna freezes, watching almost in slow motion as Reborn’s pistol slips from the hitman’s hand and falls to the ground with a clatter.





	Strong Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hymn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hymn/gifts).

> Heeeyyyyy, I'm back KHR fandom. I asked for prompts for a follower milestone literally at the start of the year and then got absorbed in a Big Bang project so this took me forever. My apologies, dearest Hymn. I hope this is good enough to make up for the long wait. More will come soon, _hopefully_.

It’s an ambush, Sabbatinis appearing out of the very cobblestones, it seems, and churning up the road in chaos. 

Naturally, Reborn is completely at home and Tsuna grins as he watches the hitman grin, twining through the madness with a casual ease Tsuna can never hope to achieve, taking out targets and maneuvering around his Tenth like he was born to do it. 

Until someone catches him by surprise, someone’s shot sneaking past his inhuman reflexes, and Reborn jerks, stumbling back with a grunt of pain. Tsuna freezes, watching almost in slow motion as Reborn’s pistol slips from the hitman’s hand and falls to the ground with a clatter. It slides along the street and smacks against Tsuna’s boots and he looks down, the world narrowing down to five flecks of blood spattered along the barrel.

Fury just as red hazes all, blurring the lines and shapes of the world, and Tsuna drops and  _ seizes _ , fingers wrapping tight around skin-warmed steel, straightening and  _ pulling _ , letting instinct guide. A second blast of sound ricochets through his head. 

The guilty body falls on its face, gore like hammered meat splattered down the back, and Tsuna’s lungs  _ rattle _ , air rasping through his lungs swift and tight and not  _ enough _ . A low voice whispers to him through the fog from miles away. 

_ Tsuna _ . 

Stable warmth wraps around his fingers, jostling and tugging briefly before all movement subsides; only holding firmly now. Tsuna’s gaze slides down to leather-wrapped fingers gripped familiarly around his leather-clothed hand, and blinks, scarlet mist slowly blown away by a silent breath, a soothing voice calling out to him again. 

“Tsuna, come on, you need to let go.” 

The world shifts into focus, then, Reborn’s hold grounding Tsuna back in reality just as it aims the barrel of his pistol toward the ground. There’s tiny slice through the sleeve of his jacket, blood dotting the tear, and nothing else — no gaping wounds, no sign of imminent demise, no need to fear; he’s okay. 

Tsuna swallows, throat dry and fingers aching, shoulders aching, everything aching;  _ fuck, he just— _

“Why didn’t you just take it back?” he croaks, gaze frozen on the gun held firmly in three hands. 

“You’re holding on too tightly,” Reborn says, no inflection, no dry humor, no nothing; just said like fact. Like it’s not an aberration to reality that Tsuna’s grip is too strong for  _ Reborn _ to break. 

Tsuna doesn’t know how he would respond if his tone were otherwise, were different than what it is in this moment, but because it  _ is _ — soft, calm, uncritical — he sags, shoulders slumping and finger’s slacking. Reborn slides the gun away and back into its holster in the space of a blink, faster than a blur, and his other hand tightens around Tsuna’s palm. 

“...I killed someone,” Tsuna says. He means for it to be steady, declarative, but instead he sounds lost, a whisper in the dark, trembling like the hand in Reborn’s. 

“Yes,” Reborn says. 

“I—“ Tsuna’s throat stiffens, cinches closed and refuses to leak a single sound more. He closes his eyes. 

An arm wraps around his back, solid and strong, and ushers him forward with gentle, silent urging. “Come on, Gokudera can take care of the mess,” Reborn says, and his usual phrase after a fight with another famiglia uttered now, after  _ this _ , makes Tsuna wince, but he opens his eyes, lets Reborn guide him to the car. But he won’t let it be done blindly; he decided a long time ago to stop being blind. 

If he’d realized fully what he might see, might do, would he have chosen to stay ignorant? 

Reborn eases him into the passenger seat and Tsuna leans his forehead against the window, eyes staring sightlessly at the world passing by. It’s an eternal, instantaneous journey back to the mansion and then a weary, drifting plod to his rooms, Reborn’s presence a constant warmth of calloused, powerful fingers pressed against the small of his back the whole way there. He pushes Tsuna gently toward the en suite, standing back to let him square off with his reflection in silence. 

He’s a little tight around the eyes — haggard, as Grandfather would say — but otherwise Tsuna looks the same, the same slight weariness dragging down that always falls over his face after a battle. 

And it’s  _ wrong _ . There should be a sign, a difference, a  _ change _ , something visible on his face to show that he— 

He… 

Tsuna whirls around and hunches over the toilet, retching up from his guts. 

_ Oh god. He really  _ _ killed _ _ someone. _

He’s trembling from the tips of his fingers all the way down to his toes, horror and violent shivers, and a slim, familiar hand lands against his spine, holding Tsuna in place. 

Tsuna rests his forehead against his arm, leaning his weight on the rim of the seat, and squeezes his eyes shut against prickling heat. “I knew it would— I knew I’d have to, someday. I… I  _ prepared _ myself, I swear I did,” he rasps, whispers, pleads. 

“You were protecting your friends,” Reborn says, soft and low, entreating. “You protected  _ me _ . You did the same thing you’ve always done, just more. And a thing done doesn’t have to have been  _ easy _ to have been right, or good, or even just the least awful option in a series of terrible choices.” His palm sweeps up and down Tsuna’s back — steady and firm — once only. “Your family is safe, Tsuna; find peace in that.” 

Tsuna sucks in a breath and it’s shaky, but the exhale that follows is less so, and the next inhale even less, and after a minute or two it’s steady, air flowing smoothly in and out of his lungs and stilling the trembling in his limbs. He rolls his head sideways peering over at Reborn. 

His expression is neutral and unconcerned, but his gaze is piercing. “I trained you to be strong enough for this,” Reborn continues, and it should sound scathing, derogatory, but his tone is still soft — so soft — and then his lips quirk up in a smirk. “Don’t you trust the judgment of the best hitman in the world?” 

Tsuna snorts, nudging an elbow into Reborn’s ribcage. He straightens up, then, from his hunched position on the floor and reaches for something to wipe his face. “If your ego gets any bigger you won’t fit through the door, let alone be invisible to your targets.” 

Reborn stands, smirk growing into a full-blown grin — like a shark, nothing but teeth — and hauls Tsuna up to his feet by his collar. “Rinse your mouth and go to bed, Dame Tsuna. It’ll be easier to face when you’re rested.” 

Tsuna’s previously-lightening mood dips a bit again, and he sighs, but nods and trails obediently back into his bedroom, stripping out of his clothes as he goes. 

Just before Reborn can slip silently out of the room Tsuna calls out a quiet, “Thank you.”

Reborn turns back to face him — watches him for a long moment — and then his hat dips to hide his eyes and he disappears without a word, the door latching silently behind him. 

Tsuna’s lips curve in a gentle smile, shaking his head at the hitman’s inability to deal with genuine appreciation for his rare moments of kindness, before turning and collapsing onto the mattress. 

He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://zacekova.tumblr.com/). Feel free to scream at me about this fic, ask questions, or request prompts.


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